Part 16 (1/2)
”Yes.”
Harry lifted his gla.s.s and took half the vodka in one swallow. Then he finished it and set the gla.s.s on the table in front of Eaton.
”Mr. Eaton, I am innocent. I believe my brother is innocent.... And I am scared to death of the Italian police. What can the emba.s.sy do to help? There has has to be to be something something.”
Eaton looked at Harry for a long moment, as if he were thinking. Finally he stood and picked up Harry's gla.s.s. Crossing to the cabinet, he poured them each a second drink.
”By rights, Mr. Addison, I should have informed the consul general the moment Adrianna called. But then he would have been obliged to notify the Italian authorities. I would have betrayed a trust, and you would have been in the jail, or worse.... And that wouldn't have done either of us much good.”
Harry looked at him, puzzled. ”What does that mean?”
”We are in the information business, Mr. Addison, not law enforcement.... The job of the counselor for Political Affairs is to know the political climate of the country to which he or she is a.s.signed. In our case that applies not only to Italy but the Vatican.... The killing of the cardinal vicar of Rome and the sabotage of the a.s.sisi bus, which I know the police believe are somehow interconnected, involve both.
”As private secretary to Cardinal Marsciano, your brother was in a privileged position within the Church. If he did a.s.sa.s.sinate the cardinal vicar, it's more than probable he wasn't acting alone. If so, there's every reason to believe that the murder was not an isolated incident but part of a larger intrigue taking place at the highest levels of the Holy See....” Eaton came back and handed Harry his gla.s.s. ”That's where our interest is, Mr. Addison, inside the Vatican.”
”What if my brother didn't do it? What if he wasn't involved at all?”
”I have to believe what the police do, that the a.s.sisi bus was bombed for one reason, to kill your brother. Whoever did it thought he was dead, but now they doubt it and are very fearful of what he knows and what he can tell. And they will do anything to find him and shut him up.”
”What he knows. What he can tell...” Suddenly Harry understood. ”You want to find him, too.”
”That's right,” Eaton said quietly.
”No, I mean you you. Not the emba.s.sy. Not even your boss. You, yourself. That's why you're here.”
”I'm fifty-one years old and still a secretary, Mr. Addison. I have been pa.s.sed over for promotion more times than you would want to know.... I don't want to retire as a secretary. Therefore I need to do something that will make it impossible for them not to raise my standing. Uncovering something going on deep inside the Vatican would do that very well.”
”And you want me to help you-” Harry was incredulous.
”Not just me, Mr. Addison. Yourself. What your brother knows-he's the only one who can get you off the hook. You know that as well as I do.”
Harry said nothing, just stared.
”If he is alive and in fear of his life. How would he know the video is fake? All he knows is that you want him to come in-and when he gets desperate enough, he's going to have to trust someone. Who better than you?”
”Maybe.... But it doesn't matter. Because he doesn't know where I am. And I don't know where he is. Neither does anybody else.”
”Don't you think the police are meticulously backtracking through the people who were onboard the bus-both the living and the dead-to see what happened? Find out where he made the switch or where someone made it for him?”
”What good does that do me?”
”Adrianna...”
”Adrianna?”
”She is the ultimate professional. She knew about you the first day you came to Rome.”
Harry's gaze drifted off. It was why she'd picked him up at the hotel. He'd even accused her of it and tried to walk away. But she'd turned him inside out and back again. The whole time she was setting him up for the story. Not so much then, but for where it might lead. Yes, she was the ultimate professional, the same as he was. And he should have been aware of it all along, because it was the place where they both lived their lives. There, and almost nowhere else.
”Why do you think she called me as soon as she got off the phone with you? She knew what she wanted and what I needed and what I could do for you. She knew that if she played it right, it would work to all our advantages.”
”Jesus f.u.c.king Christ.” Harry ran a hand through his hair and walked away. Then he turned back.
”You've thought it all out. Except for one thing. Even if we did find out where he is, he can't come to me, and I can't go to him.”
Eaton took a sip of his drink. ”You could as someone else.... New name. Pa.s.sport. Driver's license. If you were careful, you could go anywhere you wanted...”
”You can do that...”
”Yes.”
Harry stared at him. Angry, manipulated, amazed.
”If I were you, Mr. Addison, I would be jubilant. After everything, you actually have two people who want to help you. And can.”
Harry continued to stare. ”Eaton, you are one G.o.dd.a.m.ned son of a b.i.t.c.h.”
”No, Mr. Addison. I'm a G.o.dd.a.m.ned civil servant.”
45.
11:00 P.M P.M.
HARRY LAY IN BED IN EATON'S APARTMENT trying to sleep, the door locked, a chair propped under the k.n.o.b, just in case. Trying to tell himself that it was all right. And that Eaton had been right. Up until now he had been alone in an impossible situation. Suddenly he had a place to stay and two people willing to help him.
Eaton had gone out, saying he would get Harry something to eat, suggesting that in the meantime Harry shower and wash his healing wounds as best he could. But not shave. For the moment the new beard was protecting him, making him someone else.
But he wanted Harry to think who he wanted to become. Something he might know if questioned, a law school professor or perhaps a journalist who wrote about the entertainment industry on holiday in Italy, or an aspiring screenwriter or novelist doing research on ancient Rome.
”I'll remain what I was, a priest,” Harry had said when Eaton came back with pizza and a bottle of red wine and some bread and coffee for the morning.
”An American priest is who they are looking for.”
”There are priests everywhere. And I would a.s.sume more than one is American.”
Eaton had hesitated, then simply nodded and gone into the bedroom and brought out two of his s.h.i.+rts and a sweater. Then, pulling a 35mm camera from a drawer, he'd loaded it with film and positioned Harry against a blank wall. He took eighteen photographs. Six with Harry wearing one s.h.i.+rt, six with the other, six with the sweater.
After that he'd left, telling Harry to go nowhere. That either he or Adrianna would be back by noon the next day.
Why?
Why had he chosen to remain a priest? Had he thought it out? Yes Yes. As a priest, he could become a civilian at will by a simple change of clothes. And, as he had suggested, how unusual would it be to find any number who were American? Hercules had said, Hide in plain sight. Right next to them. He had, and it had worked. Any number of times. Once right under the nose of the carabinieri carabinieri.
On the other hand Eaton had been right, the police were looking for Danny. And Danny was an American priest. A priest who spoke English with an American dialect would be a natural suspect. People would look at him and wonder if, despite the beard, the face wasn't familiar. And don't forget the reward. A hundred million lire. Some sixty thousand U.S. dollars. Who wouldn't risk a little embarra.s.sment by taking a chance and calling the police, even if it turned out to be the wrong person?